"Hush little baby, don't say a word..."
His cheeks are flushed, especially the left one -- it's always seemed to turn more red than the right. His skin is hot, his temperature is high, and my heart is...restless.
I once heard it said,"...to have a child is the decision to forever allow your heart to go walking around outside of your body."
And it's true.
I'm rocking my heart, my youngest child, in an old nursery room glider that's rocked so many hearts down through so many generations that it now tries to tells its own stories, through creaks and knocks.
"Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird..."
I'm singing to him - over him, trying everything I know to comfort him. If I could steal his pain away and absorb it myself, I would.
We hate to see our children hurt, don't we? I'm convinced there's no greater pain.
And a fever is just the beginning. As their little hearts become big, the pain grows, too. Their tummy aches turn into disappointments, their skinned up knees into broken hearts, and their childish fears turn into lost jobs, divorce, addictions, and all those grown up sized failures.
"And if that mocking bird don't sing..."
It's love that pulls this lullaby out of me. I sing over my child because I love him -- but I'm not signing alone. As much as I love this baby boy, the Lord loves him more, and the scriptures say, He is singing, too. (Zephiniah 3:17) Not just over my son, but over me, and you.
Can you hear it?
Can you even imagine it?
The God who simply SPOKE the universe into creation, is now SINGING over you. If His mere WORDS set the earth into motion, then how much more power is contained in his SONG?
The thought of it all gives this restless mother's heart rest.
For my love song is imperfect; it has limits and is tainted with sin - and yet, still, I desire the best for my children. If my out of tune, off pitch lullaby can comfort, soothe, and calm my child, then how much more can His perfect love song heal and unburden us?
In every mother's life, there comes a point that we can't help our children. We can't heal their every sickness, right their every wrong, ,keep them out of every danger -- or allieviate their every pain. But He can, and He loves them more than we can fathom.
Maya Angelou says, "A bird doesn't sing because it has all the
answers, but because it has a song."
So keep singing, weary mother, remembering that your never performing a solo, but rather a duet with the Lord.
I cup his face and stroke his flushed cheek with my thumb, and I sing.
"Hush little baby, don't you cry, our Daddy loves you and so do I."